Blurry Lines
by The Slice
Summary: Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles - Attention children, this may contain any manner of things that pops into my twisted, twisted head. That means anything from war, incest, musings and fluffy bunnies. Ok. Not the bunnies, but you get the gist.
1. Prelude to Insanity

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles  
**Written by: Slice

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A warning to you dear readers:

These drabbles most probably have absolutely _no_ relation to reach other, I advise reading them as completely different things, it'll make it so much easier. These may contain any manner of things, insanity, love, death, theory, musings, battle scenes, smut, a harmless little blip about a lovely day spent with friends. Anything and can be about anyone (though I'm addicted to Harry and am more likely to write about him.)

I do not own Harry Potter (bah).

This isn't updated like regular stories, it's completely random, and most often it's not even edited correctly, it's just whatever I feel at the moment, if you'd like to leave constructive criticism I'd be honored, or just drop a review and tell me what you liked or didn't. But understand I won't be catering to anyone's tastes but my own.

And now, so this little blurb doesn't get taken down for being an "author's note" (le gasp! What horror! ::mock-swoon::) here:

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_Can't think straight can't breathe _

_Slowly asphyxiating me smothering me_

_Snuff me out and bleed me dry_

_There's a dragon in the sky he'll spin a tale for you_

_Roar out loud Jungle of a home_

_Hear the King the mighty hath fallen_

_And remember this, if there be monsters they be us_

_And remember this, once upon a time I was…_

_An empty threat an empty promise_

_False dawn false light at the end of the tunnel_

_Wound me oh immortal love_

_Wound me till I can no longer stand_

_Break me burn me destroy me, make me strong_

_Frozen platters of iced jealousy_

_That mounting fear crawling all over me_

_Don't turn your back, don't let them catch you_

_You're not strong enough to go toe to toe_

_But don't let it break you as you choke down your fear_

_Vile boiling up your throat_

_Was there ever an innocent time?_

_Sunset, sunrise which is which can't you tell?_

_Have I decided yet which I choose?_

_The end or the beginning_

_Or the beginning of the end that melts into new beginning_

_Serpent circles its tail_

_Cradle of life it welcomes you back_

_All encompassing endlessly circling_

_It calls you back to the place of your birth_

_Serpent endlessly circling_

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That up there it completely mine, but after I wrote it one dreary night I realized that it could fit Harry in some places.

And there you have it, The Prologue. ::sweeps a bow:: Hope you enjoy the show.

With my utmost love and snarkiness,  
Slice

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Added July 29, 2004: So it's taken me forever to find this, it was on my dad's computer's data base and I hadn't been able to look for it yet. Plus I'm horribly lazy. But I found it so now I can repost it on my new account since the other was taken down. Yes, the horror, those dreadful story nazis took down my old account. Mou. ::shrug:: I'll get over it. The bad bit is that I lost several stories that I don't have on this computer, ones that are actually on the old one I used to use that currently resides in the guest room's closet. Heh. And what's worse, is that, silly me, I didn't make a copy of "Rending", the first babble I had posted originally, since I uploaded it from school. So, it's lost, gone, fare thee well. Pity too, I rather liked that one. If anyone happens to have a copy (I'm not holding my breath) then I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd e-mail it to me. Thanks. Later kids!


	2. Cravings

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**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles **  
Written by: Slice

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_"I can resist everything except temptation." __  
- Oscar Wilde_

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**Cravings **

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Wormtail had watched the little Neville Longbottom closely during his time at Hogwarts. Had seen the way that the round boy cowered and shook. Had heard all the "Poor Neville"s and seen the pitying looks.

He understood.

Wormtail knew the dirty feeling you got inside and outside and all over, that made you want to flinch from those patronizing looks. The slimy feeling that they only hang around you because they feel sorry for you or on the occasion because they need you.

Always an outsider, always looking in, never being good enough.

Wormtail knew what it was like to be helpless and powerless and have no _real_ friends. The feeling that everyone thought you were so unworthy.

So the rat animagus wasn't too surprised to see the still plump, shivering boy standing angrily before the Death Eaters, his arm bared in fierce determination as the Dark Mark was carved into his skin.

Little pathetic Peter Pettigrew knew all about the pain of being unwanted, and the need to be able to stand on your own.

That was the draw of the Dark Arts after all. Power at your beck and call.

It was temptation. It was salvation and damnation. And it was so, so addictive.

And the vengeance was absolutely delicious.

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**Vengeance **- punishment inflicted in retaliation for an injury or offense

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	3. Lustful

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles  
**Written by: Slice

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_" Curiosity is a lust of the mind. "  
-Thomas Hobbes _

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**Lustful**

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It's a sin he knows. This feeling that fills him up, that he just can't seem to break the grasp of and that places his feet, one in front of the other, regardless. 

Curiosity is a lust of the mind, after all, and lust is a sin.

It's curiosity that won't let him stop, to jerk his hand back and turn around and run back to his bed and dive between the curtains to cower beneath his duvet. It's this fuzzy, insatiable, unstoppable curiosity.

The same emotion that got him in trouble so much at home, for asking questions and for looking at things and trying things and _discovering_ even when the Dursley's punished him to hell and back to hell.

It had always been Hell in that place.

And you'd think that he'd come to realize that maybe, just maybe the reason why he was in Hell was because he sinned. He was a sinful, sinful little boy with his lustful mind. But he couldn't help it so he didn't think about it. Just let his mind's hunger take over and pray he could hold up under the onslaught his trouble would cause him.

But he wasn't sure he could hold up under the consequences of this and for once he wished, prayed, hoped, almost opened his mouth and screamed, that he would just stop could just leave it be, let it lie but he couldn't and that's why his hand, slim and shaking and calloused, touched the back of his best mate and stoked.

Why his long fingers trailed down the freckled pale canvas framed by rich blood red sheets and inky darkness.

The boy with firesilk hair stiffened under his curious, teasing hand, tracing curves and dips and bumps.

Ron turned around, onto his back, agonizingly slowly like how those silly chits in the stupid horror movies Dudley always used to watch would.

Harry's hand never moved.

Bright blue eyes were wide and shocked in the strong, red-splashed face looking into equally bright, curious and frightened and wary emerald eyes.

_Curiosity killed the cat_ he knew.

And then Ron gasped, body arching up into the silly fingers that found had their way, without Harry noticing, to Ron's nipple and plucked and twisted. Harry watched, awed and thirsting for more, wanting to see what would happen if he tried other things to this strong, large, supple body laid out before him.

His fear left him as the bright haired boy reached up and grasped the back of his head, pulling him down into a greedy, sucking mouth and he was consumed completely and purely by lust.

And now he knows he's double damned and he can't help the half-hysterical giggle that trickles from his throat making the other boy growl and pull him against the mattress, push him down, hold him down and try with all his might to sink beneath his skin, into him, all over him.

It's what most people forget, that Harry also knows, that Harry's known for years.

That though curiosity may have killed the cat, satisfaction always brought it back.

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**_Satisfaction -  
_**1a) the payment through penance of the temporal punishment incurred by a sin  
2a) fulfillment of a need or want

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	4. Judas

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles  
**Written by: Slice

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_"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary;  
men alone are quite capable of every wickedness."  
- Joseph Conrad_

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**Judas**

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School has started again, and with it, war.

The students are children shrouded in a world of desperate make believe. A wide grin - _no one can touch us_ – laughter - _we're safe here_. Fragile like a dream, just waiting to fragment and shatter under reality.

Harry Potter patiently waits for them to wake up and smell the fear.

One day, Professor Snape does not appear to teach his classes and Harry's scar has been burning with a fierce kind of joy. The students begin to chatter nervously, speculations, rumors arise. One child shouts, _I always knew he was a Death Eater! _while another wails that he is _Dead dead dead_ and that they will be next.

Through it all Draco Malfoy watches with a satisfied, secret, cruel smile and Harry watches him, meditatively drumming his fingers atop his desk amongst the uproar.

Distantly he recalls that betrayers suffer the worst Hell has to offer. Harry doesn't believe in the kind of Hell Dante did but knows that whatever Voldemort and his followers do to the traitor in their midst will be the closest to Cocytus the mortal world has to offer. Which is pretty damn close he admits cynically.

He's suffered under human hands too often to think them incapable of horrors and evils.

If Harry believed in hope or in a higher being capable of love he might have prayed that Snape would die quickly and as painlessly as possible.

But Harry knows hope is a lie and instead wonders idly if the Professor will have his face chewed off.

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**_Traitor – _**

_**1** one who betrays another's trust or is false to an obligation or duty  
**2** one who commits treason___

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	5. Reckoning

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles**  
Written by: Slice

"_If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared_._"__  
-Niccolo Machiavelli _

**Reckoning**

They found him in the morning, with his old, wrinkled skin a waxy white and veins like sickly welts, his blue eyes glazed and empty of their twinkle, half rolled back. His jaw was dislocated, and sherbet lemons had spilled from his engorged and stuffed full throat onto the ground beside where he had collapsed; tea matted his white beard from where it had gurgled forth from his mouth.

It was a beautiful spell, Severus thought, subtle, deceptive, artfully done. It would have to be, he knew, for the great Albus Dumbledore to not notice it and die, choking and drowning, from the wretched sweets he had always forced upon unwilling people.

There was a delicious irony to it all, far more delicious than candy and tea, and Severus took moments and days and miniature lifetimes to savor it, almost as much as he savored his freedom now that his two Masters were dead.

The sky had darkened and most every one had gone home, to grieve or rage or forget there had ever been a meddlesome old man named Albus Dumbledore who thought that the ends really did justify the means no matter the cost when Severus, carefully enshrouded in shadows, watched Potter finally step up to the lonely marble monstrosity.

He stroked the inscription upon the stately marble and whispered tenderly into the night. "Checkmate Headmaster. Your pawns are free." And then he placed a box of sherbet lemons and a packet of Albus' favorite tea before the gravestone and strolled off into the night to lose himself in muggle crowds and anonymity, tears falling slowly down his face and a content smile curling his lips.

Severus resigned himself to owing Potter twice fold now for shattering his metaphorical shackles and graciously applauded the Boy Who Lived on the first true streak of ingenuity he had ever seen from the boy.

Murder really was an art form.

_**Checkmate – **__  
1) to arrest, thwart, or counter completely__  
2) to check (a chess opponent's king) so that escape is impossible_


	6. Bruises

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles**

Written By: Slice

_Let not thy will roar, when thy power can but whisper._

- _Dr. Thomas Fuller_

**Bruises**

Sirius hisses as slender fingers press gently against his bruises. Scowling, he jerks his arm away and limps towards his bathroom; to cleansing water and linen that he will tear into bandages. It's degrading, a Black having to tend to his wounds like a kicked dog, like a filthy mudblood. Regulus follows him.

"Sirius," he says, voice trapped between haughty arrogance and timid caring. "Just do what she wants. Then she'll stop hurting you."

Sirius looks at his younger brother, still innocent despite his heritage, and slams the door on him before he can do something that he might regret.

Abuse 

_**1** a corrupt practice or custom  
**2** improper or excessive use or treatment  
**3** obsolete a deceitful act  
**4** language that condemns or vilifies usually unjustly, intemperately, and angrily  
**5** physical maltreatment_

(Written for the Queerditch Marsh Pub challenge **Sirius/Regulus – Problem Child** on 


	7. Knock

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles**

Written By: Slice

_No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear._

- _Edmund Burke_

**Knock**

The door is locked. She has checked and rechecked and then checked once again because maybe three times isn't really a charm, but it's the closest magic she, a squib, can do, and she is just terrified enough to try it.

The windows are locked, the blinds closed; she takes sleeping pills at night in order to sleep, because otherwise she would wake up screaming, hearing a rasping growl at her door: "Alohomora!"

Or perhaps, perhaps, Sirius Black will just come through her fireplace, like the big bad wolf, only instead of a shimmy and wriggle down the chimney, appear in a burst of green flames that smoothes its way into a single strand of green, reaching out to her in a single minded malice until she can taste the terror of her death in the load of shit a sudden sound has caused her to dump.

Arabella has never hated anyone quite the way she hates little Harry Potter, just a street or two over, as she does now. They will all be blown away, she thinks, brittle sticks and wisps of straw as the monster tries to get at its prize.

_Vulnerable_

_**1** capable of being physically wounded  
**2** open to attack or damage  
**3** liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses after winning a game in contract bridge_

(Inspired by the Random HP Plot Generator: **Arabella Figg and Sirius Black : _Alohomora!_ : "Little pig, little pig, let me come in."**)


	8. Lesson

**Blurry Lines: A Collection of Drabbles**

Written By: Slice

_I've arrived at this outermost edge of my life by my own actions. Where I am is thoroughly unacceptable. Therefore, I must stop what I've been doing._

_- Alice Koller_

**Lessons**

Professor Karkaroff has always wanted his students to do well. He is determined that Durmstrang alumni will outshine everyone else.

Sweat pours down Poppy's face and the muggle bound to the chair before her whimpers nonsensically. "Are you a witch, or aren't you, Miss Pomfrey?" he lectures, crisp and professional, just slightly stern. "Spell craft requires effort from the caster. You can't just say it; you have to _mean_ it. Again."

Poppy raises her wand, the muggle flinches, and Poppy's soul breaks a little bit more. She dreams, desperately, deliriously, of a place where she no longer causes pain.

"Crucio."

_Tutor _

_a person charged with the instruction and guidance of another: as **a** a private teacher **b** a teacher in a British university who gives individual instruction to undergraduates_

(Inspired by the Random HP Plot Generator, which gave me **Poppy Pomfrey and Igor Karkaroff : crisp : "You have to _mean_ it."**)


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